Gordon Reed's Memoirs
by Madame Hatter
Summary: Everyone has a story to tell in Rent. This one tells of a hopeful illustrator who learns that the end is not necessarily when the light diminishes at the close of the tunnnel. This is Gordon's perspective and his take of being a victim of AIDS. Incomplete
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I love Gordon's character, especially after the movie. I loved his presence, and the very fact of his existence. I hope this story fulfills my goals for a good drama froma character we've so seldom acknowledge. I hope I'm able to hit your heart as much as Gordon has hit mine. Enjoy reading. Thank you. _

_Reviews are welcomed, commentary encouraged, criticism highly appreciated. I hold much gratitude from every comment I receive. _

**My Dignity**

**Gordon Reed's Memoir**

_I have never intended to write a memoir and this, I can safely say, will be my first time writing an actual story. True, I had always regarded diaries, journals, autobiographies as a pathetic attempt to glorify the misfortunes of the past. But life moves on and circumstances change. And when you do need to turn to something to confide in, this doesn't sound half bad. I don't like calling it a memoir, but Webster has clearly defined it as that, so I must oblige._

_I've always relied on intellect. _

_The only good thing that comes out when something begins to go for the worst is its eventual end. _

The story began yesterday. We were coming back from a long break for Independence day, but more than half just wanted to return to their fireworks, constantly blaming the weather for the "accidental" explosions that seemed to have found its way in the neighbor's lawn. I, on the other hand, couldn't wait to sit back in my little drawing room and do the only thing I knew how. I was completely content being back at work as an alternative to sitting alone at home, eating Chinese takeout.

I walked into our workroom and greeted everyone with an enthusiastic welcome as they muttered back their less-than-hearty hellos.

"You're in a happy mood," said Alysha, standing from her desk.

"Yeah well, it's nice to be here," I responded. I noticed her rolling her eyes, but smiling at my comment. We walked to my cubicle and discussed about what she wanted drawn on her pages. She said the Village Voice wasn't experimenting with a lot of red, so I made a mental note to include it more for the other editors. It wasn't long until our editor-in-chief interjected with an "important announcement." Between you and me, his idea of an "important announcement" was him finding a quarter in the change slot of the pay phone.

"This will only take a minute, guys," said Andrew, as several gathered around him and a new guy. The rest popped their head over their compartment walls. Alysha and I left my workspace and walked up to them. "I would like to introduce to you Steven Rodriguez, your new Graphics and Technology Editor."

A lazy applause surfaced from the indolent staff. Steven tried to hide his grin as Andrew said, "I know you can do better than that."

"Yeah, Rodriguez! You the man!" I cheered, punching the air. A more excited round of applause, and a few laughs, followed.

"That's Gordon Reed, the best Illustrator we've ever had," said Andrew. We shook hands. He had a rough-edge look, dark eyes and black, curly hair. He looked laid-back, the opposite of how I was. Nonetheless, his grin told me that he would be more eager than most of the reporters here. "You two will be working together a lot. Gordon, that cubicle in front of yours? Show it to him. Show him the ropes."

"No problem," I said. I took him to his corner office. A few people greeted him warmly on the way, and he received them quietly. I patted the brick-colored wall of his compartment. "She's all yours."

He looked around the empty space, which only contained a desk and a computer. He didn't say anything for a while, which kind of worried me. I asked him if there was anything he needed to knock on my wall, and I'd be right over. I told him the programs required were already installed and that I would be giving him things frequently to scan and design. I would show him how to paste pages later. He murmured a quick thank you and I went back to my desk.

It wasn't until half an hour later when Andrew returned with another announcement.

"Remember, the Red Cross is receiving blood donations and I volunteered the Village Voice to participate. So, the more people give, the more I look good."

"You going?" asked Alysha, sticking her head in.

"Yeah," I said, slipping in a few more drawings into a manila folder and getting up to give Steven his first assignments. "Are you?"

"I can't stand needles," she said following me to him. I smiled and handed him the folder. He looked confused as he accepted it.

"Each illustration is marked with a page number and a section along with the editor's surname. They need to be scanned, in their proper formats, 170 resolutions. Sizes are included as well," I said.

"Giving him a lot to do on his first day, huh?" Alysha asked looking at him admiringly. I smiled.

"Welcome to the business, Steven," I said.

He grinned. "Call me Steve."

"Are you going to the Red Cross, Steve?" asked Alysha.

He shook his head. "No, I can't. I-" He quickly looked down and turned back to his desk. "I can't."

"That's alright. Maybe we all can catch lunch later," I said. Alysha nodded excitedly and I laughed. We set back to work, trying to get our stories and templates done before the deadline. A lot needed to be done and I still needed a story idea and a photo layout.

When our lunch hour finally arrived, Alysha and I, and a bunch of others, took Steve out to the Life Cafe to get to know everyone. He was kind of a reserved guy, so we did a lot of the talking. I didn't mind it much. I loved to talk and goof around. We asked him some questions to get to know him better. He said he had lived in the Village for some time, but I had never seen him around. He had dropped out of grad school and went from job to job, writing a few articles, but it wasn't enough to make ends meat. So he took a few computer classes, lectures, anything he can find, even though it was taking out more from his wallet than he expected. He became more comfortable as he opened up. As the lunch hour ended, he seemed to have broken himself in for I saw him holding Alysha's hand as we headed out the door.

For the rest of the day, I worked on my cartoon spread template, even though I had no theme, no ideas, no drawings. But I usually pulled through in the end. It was one of those things where inspiration struck at the most opportune moments. Only, my opportune moments treaded near deadlines when Andrew pulled off most his hair. I actually found it amusing. He would be going crazy and jumping off walls because I would have nothing but the headline three hours before we went to print. The next week, he would be praising me as his Illustrator God.

I thought he was bipolar.

I headed to the local hospital after work to donate blood. The nurse handed me a form containing 25 or so general questions. Things like how I felt today and if I traveled out of the country for the past couple years. I happily circled no for most of them, and tempted to circle yes on the question, "Have you ever had a pregnancy?"

I didn't. I figured the doc wouldn't take my blood if I did. Being pregnant is a very serious thing. Especially for men.

I didn't have to wait long before they took me in. The doctor asked if the nurses gave me a quick check-up. I told him they didn't. He sighed, but smiled.

"They don't pay us enough here," he said, "You think they're trying to tell me something?"

I laughed and he took my temperature. He asked me about my health and lifestyle, if I had been feeling ill lately. I said I had been feeling a bit flu-ish, but I worked for a local magazine and was always under stress. He took my pulse and blood pressure, and he asked about family health, past health.

"I come from a perfectly healthy family," I said confidently. It was true. My parents were still alive, both reaching the age of 70. No one smoked in my family. Mom always kept a nutritious meal on the table. He nodded and pricked my finger with a fingerstick, taking a few drops of my blood. He said it was standard procedure, to see if I had enough red blood cells. He left the room.

A while later, he came back. "Mr. Reed, I'm sorry for any inconvenience, but if you would please drop in a few days-"

"Few days? Is something wrong?" I tried not to panic. It was difficult plastering a smile on when inside, you just want to go hysterical. But, this was something you wouldn't expect the doctor to say after he's taken your blood. I knew there had to be something wrong. And I wasn't going to let some medical degree beat around the bush. As calmly as I possibly could, I persisted, "What's wrong?"

He looked at me gravely. It was an expression you'd only see if someone was about to die or something. "You have a low count of red blood cells, but we need more time to establish a complete diagnosis."

My heart skipped a few beats. How could that be? I tried to trace every known disease I could have acquired from family, from anything, but I couldn't reach to anything. "What do you think I have?" I asked desperately.

"I can't tell you that without a complete report," he said.

"Well, what kind of diseases counts for low red blood cells?" I demanded.

"There are many, the most common being anemia, a blood disorder where the cells are destroyed prematurely. I don't know for sure, but if you just go home, get a good night's rest, and try to go on with your day normally...please, the more you worry, the more you dig yourself into your own grave...metaphorically speaking," he quickly added as my eyes widened. "Please, come back on Thursday."

I left speechless, clueless of how this could possibly happen. I had tried to live a healthy life and I never dig drugs. I struggled to find a likely reason for it, but my thoughts were leading me nowhere. I walked around the neighborhood for a while until night reached. The street lamps flickered on and I felt the night chill approaching. I turned the corner and headed home. As I reached my apartment, I slumped onto the sofa. How could I be sick?

"Gordon, is everything okay?" Kellie walked out of the bedroom, and sat beside me, back from her week-long holiday at her parents. I sighed and straightened up, looking into her grey eyes. Her hair was in curls and she was already in her nightgown. She looked so beautiful; I couldn't let her down now.

"Everything's fine," I said, "Let's get to bed." All night, I tried to convince myself that everything was going to be alright. Maybe the disease was curable, or maybe the doctor made a mistake. I wrapped my arm around Kellie's waist, drawing her closer to me. She laid her head on my chest and I slept, loving the fragrance of her shampoo. She was beside me. She reminded me that as long as I had her, I knew I would pull through in the end.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Two chapters? Say it ain't so. It is so. Hopefully, I'll get enough reviews to continue. I hate being discouraged. But all I ask is that you enjoy. Thank you. _

**My Dignity**

**Gordon Reed's Memoir**

_Do not expect anyone to understand you. Only you can understand yourself and even that comes with complications._

I went to work today with no energy at all. No one really noticed since we were buried with our own stories and pages. Actually the only person I would let in my workspace was Steve, and that was because we had to work together on the cartoon spread. The silence between us was almost deafening and I wasn't the only one who noticed. He asked if everything was alright. Fine, I said.

When lunch approached, I dropped by the hospital to talk to the doc. I noticed him halfway down the hall.

"Mr. Reed, we have the full report from your blood sample," he said.

"And?" I asked. Please, let it be a misunderstanding, I prayed.

"Please, step into my office," he said. A sudden burn stung behind my eyes. I followed him into his room, closing the door behind me. It felt strange, like I was at the principal's office for pulling the fire alarm. And I had only done that once.

"This isn't easy, Mr. Reed," he said, "but I have to ask you. Are you sexually active?" There he went, beating around the bush. But I couldn't help but become disturbed by his question.

"I have a girlfriend," I said softly. "But she's healthy," I added defensively.

"You have HIV, Mr. Reed. And I suggest you get your girlfriend tested."

My heart stopped. Reality froze. The sounds of the hospital ceased. Even the doctor's voice faded in the background. Seconds became minutes. It took more than a while to digest what he had said to me.

He handed me a manila folder containing the results, but they were all gibberish. He gave me some pamphlets as he lectured about what I already knew. What I already heard about. What I already experienced with friends. Before he sent me away, he gave me a prescription for azidothymidine. AZT.

I didn't want to go back home yet. Kellie would be at work and I would be alone. And I didn't want to be alone. And even if Kellie was there, I didn't know if I could tell her that she... that she could possibly have HIV.

I went back to work. I did all I could to hide the depression in my face, the despondency in my posture. Staring at the blank template on my computer, I submerged in my thoughts. Something was wrong with me. How could I be HIV positive?

Hours passed as I continued to stare impassively at my monitor. I had to have gotten in from somewhere. Not Kellie. I knew it couldn't have been from her. I was the only person she ever had a sexual relationship with and I knew more than anything that she would never betray me. God... then how the hell could I have betrayed her?

I continued to think. I tried to think about past girlfriends, which weren't many. But, they would have told me. They should have told me. It was tearing me up inside.

I couldn't concentrate in this environment. It almost felt as if the walls were closing in. I grabbed my jacket and put it on, tightening it around me. I quickly told Andrew that I was taking the rest of the day off. He would have protested if it weren't for the solemnity in my voice. I shoved my hands into my pockets. I felt the crumpled piece of paper the doctor had given me and the pamphlets I had folded thrice. Before going home, I decided to go to the nearest pharmacy and get it over with.

The long walk was good for me, in a way. It cleared my thoughts. I didn't really think of anything except where I was going. When I had finally reached my destination, my nerves suddenly froze and I got extremely nervous. I kept my eyes on the counter as the pharmacist filled my bottle. I didn't even look up when he told me the price.

I took out my wallet, my fingers quivering. I was so nervous; I couldn't even find my card. Taking out my ID, pictures, coupons, business cards, I finally spotted the blue Visa hiding behind an IOU.

"Is this your girlfriend?" the pharmacist asked, pointing at the picture on the counter.

"Yeah," I mumbled, handing him the card. He gazed at it for a few moments. I suddenly became irritated and swiped whatever was on the counter and stuffed it back in my wallet.

"She looks familiar..." he said, noticing my agitation. He punched in some numbers, and the register began to make the noisiest sounds. "Oh right. She came to pick up a bottle of AZT yesterday afternoon... Hmm... Rotten luck."

It took all my might not to punch him in the face for his vulgar comment. But then it hit me. She was here to pick up AZT?

"Are you sure about that?" I asked lowly.

"Yeah," he said giving me back my card. "She was wearing a pink top and dark jeans. And a beanie on her head. And a scarf. All pink."

That son of a bitch was telling the truth. He described the exact outfit Kellie was wearing yesterday. I couldn't believe she never told me. I couldn't believe she hid it so well from me... she _deceived_ me. I couldn't believe I had been so blind. What the fuck was wrong with me?

I grabbed my AZT and rushed home. All that time, I couldn't help but wonder whether I should forgive her or not. She had ruined my life. But what could she have been suffering? She was obviously embarrassed, but how much did she love me if she kept this away from me? Didn't she think I would eventually find out? I tried to make some sense out of it. There had to be some sense out of it.

It was four o' clock so she would have been home for an hour. I rushed up the stairs, getting to my apartment, and struggling with the knob. Once I got inside, I made sure to lock the door. My hands were shivering again. I had to face her now, but everything in my heart was telling me no. I would still love her. I would still love the woman who murdered me.

"Kellie?" my voice croaked. I called again. "Kellie?"

She appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands with a towel. Her pretty blonde hair was in a ponytail and she was wearing a silver blouse that made her eyes gleam endlessly. Why was she so calm?

"Gordon, what's the matter?" she asked. She tossed the towel aside and advanced toward me.

"Kellie, I...I..." I couldn't get it out. I was so uneasy. Why was she so calm?

"Gordon, you're home early. What's wrong?" she asked. Her tone suddenly became anxious, apprehensive. "Gordon?"

She was so clueless. She didn't know. I couldn't stand seeing her so oblivious about our relationship. But I couldn't stand seeing her hurt. I told myself before, if I ever had to see her cry because of me, I would kill myself. Kellie, just tell me. It would be so much easier if you just tell me. Then, I'd be able to comfort you and tell you everything would be alright. Why are you so calm?

"Why Kellie?" I asked. "Why?"

"Why, what?" she asked, panicking a bit. She moved closer, but I automatically backed away. I didn't know why I did. She made me feel so nervous. I felt a trickle of sweat forming along my neck.

"Kellie, just tell me," I pleaded. "Just tell me."

"Gordon, tell you what?"

"Please, stop pretending." I got my courage to move forward and grabbed her shoulders. "Just tell me. You don't have to hide it anymore." I tried to look into her eyes, finding some sort of understanding within her soul. For some reason, her eyes seem to set mine ablaze.

"Gordon... Gordon, what are you talking about?" she asked slowly. Frightened. Her eyes glazed. Her voice quaked.

"Kellie, stop lying to me... please," I begged. I tried to sound reassuring. But I was scared too.

"Lying, Gordon... Gordon, you're scaring me, what is it?" she asked. Her lips began to tremble, and I begged silently, to make her stop. Don't make her cry.

"I know, Kellie... I know." I said. "I know; please don't... lie. Don't lie. Kellie, don't cry." Tears rolled from her cheeks. Some unknown frustration, anxiety emerged from my skin. I felt the heat in my veins, the sweat on my face. "Kellie, I _know_. They said you were there yesterday." I had to stop and take a breath. I turned my head so I wouldn't have to look at her tears trailing uncontrollably from her grey eyes that gleamed so endlessly.

"Gordon... Gordon... I don't know what you're saying," she sobbed. She traced her hand on mine. I pulled away. I couldn't stand feeling her soft skin caress over mine. It hurt so. I thrust by hands into my pockets. I turned my back to her.

"Kellie, I was at the pharmacy today to pick up some pills. The pharmacist said you were there. He said... he said that he saw you pick up a bottle of AZT. Kellie, why didn't you tell me?"

A numbing silence filled the room. A small gasp escaped from her lungs. I knew how she must have felt, to have discovered her secret, and to have me find out this way. I hated it as much as she did. I tried to speak again.

"This...would have gone a lot easier for me and you if you told me you had AIDS. It would have saved me the stress from telling you."

I felt her presence coming near. Gradually I felt her arm slipping around my waist. I felt a relief in my body, happy to know she still loved me. But something felt empty. Her arm ceased to wrap around. She pulled out a pamphlet from my pocket.

"AIDS?" she whispered. I turned to her, slightly confused. The horror on her face only meant one thing.

She didn't know.

"I thought you knew..." I said, terrified. "I thought... Kellie, I thought." She brought her eyes to mine, which held every known fear in the world. Her mouth gaped open and she stared at me, horrified, alarmed.

"How could you do this to me?" she spoke softly.

"Kellie, no... I'm so sorry." Before I could explain, she stormed out. She wouldn't even give me a chance. This was the last I ever saw of her.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: My apologies for the late update. I hope you enjoy this chapter. A new one will be up soon. Comments, criticism- all welcomed and encouraged._

**My Dignity**

**Gordon Reed's Memoir**

_Sometimes I wonder if suicides aren't in fact sad guardians of the meaning of life. _

_-Vaclav Havel_

Deadline. I would have liked to be anywhere else besides work. But I had missed a lot of days... been unproductive the days I was here. I've been skipping breakfast and my energy had been extremely low. I've been tired. Sick of worrying. Sick of living. Night sweats, flu-ish. But I didn't expect anything less since I had been skipping doses of my AZT.

Everyone in work had noticed, but they didn't care as much. I wouldn't want them to. They had their own shit to deal with. I didn't want to be the burden on anyone's shoulder. I had been worried about Alysha and Steve. They both knew something was wrong, but tried as hard as they could to give me some space. It was people like them that made me realize that there was a miniscule of hope left.

A knock. And another.

"We go to print in eight hours," said Steve softly.

Oh right. I didn't have my cartoon spread done. I grumbled softly.

"Andrew's getting the noose ready in his office," said Steve. I knew how hard he was trying... "But, uhh... I told him that the ceiling wasn't high enough."

A small involuntary smile crept on my face. He laughed gently and sat down across from me. He leaned forward and began to talk like the serious, compassionate guy I had always imagined him to be. Would he ever loosen?

"I haven't known you for too long," he started, "but I think Alysha's told me enough about you to guess that there's something wrong. And I know that you're too outgoing to be this... depressed." I stayed quiet. Devoured his words thirstily. Why did I feel like I had known him for all my life? "Maybe you have trouble telling Alysha your... troubles... because you're afraid for her or something... or maybe you don't want someone you care about to pity you so much... or something. But I want you to know that you can always talk to me... because I have enough of my own problems to worry about yours."

He didn't say this with any unkindness. It was almost sympathetic. Soothing. He wasn't dismissive, but welcoming. His tone was soft and touched a part of me I forgot I had. He knew I wasn't looking for helping hand, just someone to talk to. I looked at him sincerely, a look that I hadn't given anyone for a while. He nodded.

"I'm right next door," he said. I nodded and he left. I stared at my monitor intently and began to wonder about what I was going through. What other people like me was going through. How Alysha was feeling. How Steve was feeling. How Kellie was feeling... I sucked in some air, grabbed a clean sheet of paper, and began to draw.

I drew and erased, sketched and drew. Colored and shaded. I became mesmerized, fixed on my work, concentrating on the markings darkening along the surface of white. I did this for hours. Andrew came in a couple of times. He didn't say much because it probably wouldn't have done any good. I was deaf and the only things I would listen to were the scratches of my pencil on paper.

Finished. My illustrations were finished. I wrote an article along with it, that I typed in twenty minutes, revised in fifteen, and copyedited in twelve. I told Andrew to trust me. He wanted to see my page, but I refused. I wouldn't let anyone see it.

I grabbed my drawings and headed to the scanner. That was all I needed to do. Scan the art and put it into the computer. I gazed over at my creations, feeling a nice, familiar sensation about my own work. Then I began to feel depressed again. And I didn't know why. I was afraid that the dreaded day had come when even my drawings would fail to give me the sense of pleasure it usually gave.

I put in the first drawing and grabbed the disk out of my pocket, slipping it into the junk drive of the computer beside it. I set up the scanning process with the feeling of dejection returning for no reason at all. Again, I couldn't help but think of how I had come to this. Why I had AIDS.

I waited. Waited for the pictures to scan. I leaned against the wall. My head began to hurt, the anxiety and pain weighing it down. I continued to scan, continued to think, continued to worry. I reached as far as high school to remember if I did anything stupid. I pulled out one of the pamphlets from my jacket pocket and flipped through the pages, hoping to find the answer written in it clear as day. Perhaps I would never find out. And I knew that the curiosity would kill me first before the disease took its grasp on me.

Footsteps arrived. Startled, I hurriedly slipped the pamphlet into my back pocket. I didn't want anyone to know. Not yet. I wasn't ready. Not now.

"How are you feeling, Gordon?" asked Alysha quietly.

"Okay," I said, trying to be as vague as possible. I hated lying to her.

"You haven't been joining us at Life for lunch lately. You sure you're just okay?" she asked. Maybe I did hate the fact that she felt some pity for me while everyone else was worried about their own shit. I sighed.

"Yeah. Is there something you needed?" I asked, tapping on the scanner and looking over the buttons as if I was searching for something.

"Do I ever need a reason to just talk to you?" she asked. I didn't respond; I continued to avoid eye contact. "Looks like you've broken your record. Done an hour before print? That's the earliest you've ever gone."

"And your point is?" I snapped, but sure as hell didn't mean to. She drew back and bit her lip, hurt, looking as if she was going to cry. I didn't know what was wrong with me. "I'm sorry, Alysha, I'm just a bit irritable. Sit down."

I pulled out the chair in front of the computer. She reluctantly took the seat and I crossed my arms. I turned a bit and smiled weakly. "Tell me, what's going on with your life?"

A small curl emerged from her lips. She began to talk about how she and Steve were getting along, but kept her voice to a minimum since he was nearby. She was a bit more hesitant, probably still uncomfortable with my presence. She and Steve seemed to have a lot of chemistry, and he always managed to make her laugh. By the glow in her face, I could tell she really liked him, and it was about time. It was about time she found someone and it was about time he got comfortable with us.

The heat from the scanner scorched my flesh, but the pain wasn't any different from what I felt already. A drip of sweat leaked from my neck. My mind slowly began to falter in and out of reality. I heard Alysha's voice, but that was all. I understood nothing. I grabbed the scanner with both hands, and tried to breathe in.

Alysha rose. "Gordon, are you ok?"

I nodded. "Fine. I'm just... tired." The scanner had finished its last job. I took out the pictures and saved the illustrations on the disk. My throat felt as if it was contracting, and I needed to take more breaths. I started to head for my workspace, but had to stop for a moment for the room to stop spinning.

"I'm gonna get you some water," she said quickly and jogged across the room.

I plugged the disk into the junk drive hooked on my computer and edited the last touches to my page. Saved it. Finished. Done. Over. Walked out of my cubicle. I lurched forward.

The image in front of me began to blur. It suddenly felt as if the room was closing in on me. The sweat covered every inch of my body. I felt sick to my stomach; I wasn't sure what to do so I dropped on all fours.

"Gordon," someone said. I saw Steve's hand grabbing my arm and putting it around his neck. Before my vision darkened, I saw Alysha's lime-green sandals dragging across the dusty blue carpet.

"Oh God, is he okay?" I heard her say.

"He needs a doctor," I heard another say.

"Relax, I'm gonna take him outside to get some fresh air. There's a payphone nearby, I'll call a taxi or something if something goes wrong," said Steve, as he tried to get me down the stairs.

"Take my car," said Andrew. I heard keys tossed.

"Work with me, Gordon," said Steve, as he struggled down the steps. I suffocated as I tried to take a breath. My throat closed up. I swayed my weight to the rail- it was sturdier. Every step felt like I was falling deeper and deeper into quicksand; it was getting harder to pick up my feet. We managed to get outside. The night was hot.

"Do you want to get to a hospital?" asked Steve.

I took another breath and finally got a swift of air. I coughed and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand.

"I'm fine," I said, moaning softly. "I'm just... I just feel like crap."

"Is he doing alright?" asked Alysha, joining us. I looked up and my eyesight became clearer. My body began to relax, the tension slowly casting out of my system. My heart beat rapidly. I didn't want to think about the rest of the shocks I would be going through in the future; I didn't want to think about how many other times I'd have to suffer near death until I experienced the real thing.

"He's going to be okay," said Steve. She wrapped herself around him. I leaned against a wall, trying to wipe the sweat away with my shirt. Alysha offered me a handkerchief. I accepted gratefully.

"We uploaded your page," she said, "but I swear, we didn't look at it. Andrew said he'll print up the page and paste it, and he won't um... criticize you until you're well."

I nodded once. Andrew knew about my sickness. Nobody else.He had to know. As my boss, he needed to know. I had to tell him everything about my health.

"Gordon," she whispered my name like how Kellie did, and reached for my hand. I pulled away. Her brow scrunched, upset. Steve laid a kiss on her forehead.

"Do you mind if I take him home? I'll be back to walk you to your apartment and give Andrew his car," said Steve. Alysha nodded and headed back upstairs. Steve patted my back and he led me to Andrew's old silver blue Toyota. I got into the passenger's seat and closed the door. Steve started the engine and I leaned my head back exhausted.

"Do you mind if we take a quick stop at the drug store?" he asked.

I shook my head. I fell asleep during the quick ride and Steve woke me up before he got out of the car. He said that he would have let me sleep, but he didn't think it was a good idea to leave me in a stuffy car. He said the open air would do me good, so I obeyed. He was a real intellect, and I relied on that.

We headed into the store. The bright lights and familiar essence hit me cold. I remembered where I was. It was the same store I went in and found out from that jerk in the white coat that Kellie came in. That liar.

To my horror, we were heading for the pharmacy sector of the store.

"I just need to do a refill... are you okay?" He noticed my uneasiness.

"I don't like going here," I admitted bitterly.

"Afraid of being sick?" he asked. That question threw my off guard.

"No...no," I said trying to sound convincing. "Someone I don't like."

"Not Eddy, I hope," said Steve, "he annoys the hell out of me. He can never get my name right."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He thinks he knows every person that's a regular here- he's full of shit. That's why I usually come in the mornings. It's not his shift... just my luck. He's here." We approached the counter and a curly haired girl walked behind Eddy.

"I've got this one Eddy," she said stepping in front of him. "You've still got to take care of that inventory...now." He looked at her and went in the back. She smiled at us. "I know you too well, Steve."

"Well at least you get my name right," he said, "yesterday I came in for some groceries and he called me Prescott."

She laughed. "I'll get you a new bottle." She disappeared behind the shelves and Steve gave ma a grin. I smiled weakly.

"You really are a ladies man, aren't you?" I joked. The feeling of my old self was gradually surfacing.

"I don't think so. Now you... your the ladies man."

The girl came back and shook the bottle before giving it to him. "There's your AZT. You're still covered for the next two refills."

"Thanks Darla," he said and slipped it into his pocket. He looked at me. His expression remained the same. Not embarrassed, or expectant of a reaction. "Ready?"

I looked at him and nodded. Suddenly I didn't feel so alone.


End file.
